


A Good Feeling

by Blink_Blue



Series: Things You Said [8]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stanford, Established Relationship, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things you said after you kissed me.</p>
<p>A promotion at work leaves Oliver in a good mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Feeling

Oliver bursts through the front door. He had rushed home as quickly as he could. It had taken everything in him to not immediately text Connor the good news the second he got it. He wanted it to be surprise. So instead, he had spent the rest of the day after his morning meeting with his boss with a wide, ear to ear grin on his face. Now he’s practically bursting at the seams. 

Connor’s in the kitchen. He makes a sound to acknowledge Oliver’s entrance but right as he turns around Oliver tackles him with a hug–he nearly gets smacked in the face with a wooden spoon for his efforts. 

“Whoa–what–”

Oliver cuts him off with a passionate kiss, the kind with his hands on either side of Connor’s face, and no space between their bodies. The kind that has Connor stumbling back a foot or two, until Oliver steadies him with an arm around his waist, his hand pressed right against the small of his back. The kind that leaves them both breathless and panting by the end of it, and Connor’s eyes are slightly glazed when they open again.

“Um, hi… welcome home,” he says huskily. “What uh… what’s gotten into you?”

Oliver starts giggling. He’s only feeling a bit hysterical after having to dampen his excitement all day to remain professional in the eyes of his colleagues. But now, he’s grinning so wide his face starts aching. 

“I got the promotion.”

Connor’s eyes widen almost comically. His jaw drops and he smacks Oliver on the arm with his free hand. “You got it?! Why didn’t you tell me?! Oh my god Ollie, congratulations!” He quickly jumps back into Oliver’s arms, and for a short second they embrace each other lovingly, until Connor jumps back, a serious look on his face. “Hold on a minute, I kept telling you no one deserved this position more than you! Time and time again, I told you that your boss and his committee would be idiots if they gave the job to one of those other morons that you’ve been working with. I knew you’d get it!  _You_ didn’t believe me!”

Oliver sighs. He knows Connor is right, but he shrugs his shoulders anyway. “Well, it was between me and four other guys. I figured my chances were pretty low.”

Connor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure, if you were all equally qualified. But you’re the only one who knows what he’s doing. I can’t even count the number of hours that you’ve spent cleaning up their source code, debugging their messes, and doing the work of a whole team practically on your own.”

Oliver smiles slightly as he watches the other man continue his rant. 

“I’m glad you had me look over your evaluations of the other guys. I don’t know why you were so damn nice about it. They’re completely incompetent, not even bro-grammer status. At least bro-grammers do decent work when they’re not shotgunning beers and hitting on chicks. Those assholes deserved the scathing review I–you gave them.”

Oliver grins softly and nods. “Well, thanks for believing in me.”

“That’s my job!” Connor states as he gives the other man a peck on the cheek before turning back to the stove to give the pot a stir.

Oliver finally takes in the other man and their surroundings. “What are you doing? And _what are you wearing?”_

Connor turns to him with an exasperated gaze and a raised eyebrow. “I’m cooking, Ollie. What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But you never cook,” Oliver states plainly.

“And I’m wearing an apron. You know, one of those things you wear when you’re cooking? What’s the point of owning one, of you’re not going to use it?”

“That was a gift from my aunt,” Oliver says pointedly. “I never wear it.”

“Looks good on me, doesn’t it?” Connor asks playfully.

“It sure does,” Oliver murmurs. Although from his point of view, there’s not much of the apron that he can see, except for the strings tying it together. Instead, he’s eying his boyfriend’s ass, and the way it looks so damn perfect in his grey sweatpants. He steps closer, and reaches out to grab a handful. He gives his ass a nice squeeze as he presses his chest against Connor’s back, and rests his chin on the other man’s shoulder.

“Whatcha making?” He asks as he peers over Connor’s shoulder into the boiling pot.

“Just pasta, nothing fancy. It’s pretty much the only thing I can manage.” Connor turns his head so their lips can meet in a gentle kiss. Well it starts gentle, until Connor parts his lips, and Oliver slips his tongue inside, tasting him sweetly. Until Oliver’s arms wrap tightly around the other man’s waist, holding him close. And the friction between them causes the front of his pants to become uncomfortably tight as he rubs them against Connor’s firm ass. He gives an experimental grind, which causes Connor’s hips to bump against the stove. 

“Whoa, careful there,” Connor says with a soft laugh, as he eyes the pot of boiling pasta. “Mr. Impatient. Can’t wait ‘til after dinner?”

“No, no I can’t,” Oliver murmurs as he runs his lips against the other man’s neck. Connor laughs softly from the tickling sensation, and shivers run down his back. But he continues stirring the pot in front of him. And he’s grabbed the salt shaker, about to add a few shakes to the pot when Oliver’s hand reaches around to cup the front of his sweatpants, giving him a gentle squeeze.

Connor gasps and his body jerks against the man behind him. Oops, the pasta might be a bit saltier than they’d prefer. “Wow, you’re not kidding,” he stutters as Oliver’s arousal makes itself very apparent against his rear.

“Nope.” Oliver runs his tongue along the length of Connor’s neck, all the way up to his ear where he gives it a gentle tug with his teeth. 

“In the kitchen though?” Connor asks breathlessly. “The one place you claim is off limits because of–” He breaks off in a gasp when Oliver’s hand slips underneath the apron and into his sweatpants to fondle him gently, “–sanitary reasons.”

“I’m in a really good mood.” Oliver nips at his earlobe again.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Well why shouldn’t I be?” Oliver asks softly. “I’m got a gorgeous, brilliant boyfriend with an ass that won’t quit. And I am completely, absolutely, _unequivocally_ head over heals in love with him.” 

Connor turns his head towards him with a grin, and Oliver can’t help but capture his lips again with his own. “I’ve got a beautiful home, a successful career. I’m healthy and happy… I couldn’t ask for more.”

“I love seeing you like this,” Connor murmurs softly. “So happy.”

A moment passes, and they simply gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes, both of them smiling fondly. Until Oliver remembers that he still has his hand down the front of the other man’s pants. His affectionate grin grows suggestive and eager. And he leans forward to press their lips together again. He crushes them together, while his hand slowly strokes Connor to full mast.

“Oh my god,” Connor gasps. “Are we really doing this?”

Oliver hooks his thumb underneath the waistband of Connor’s sweatpants and pulls them down, exposing his bare ass. He grins hungrily as he gazes down at the round lobes. His eyes flick up to meet Connor’s for a mere second before he’s pulling them sideways from the stove to the countertop. He reaches around the other man for the bottle of olive oil on the counter.

“That’s not meant for that.”

Oliver’s only response is to pour the thick liquid over his fingers. The excess spills over the countertop messily, but he can’t be bothered to care at the moment. He rubs his slick fingers against Connor’s entrance, and the other man lets out his breath in a hiss when he pushes one inside. It slides in easily given the amount of lubrication. But Connor still feels hot and tight, a snug fit around his finger. And he eagerly thinks about how good it’ll feel around his cock.

Connor moans softly as Oliver continues to patiently prepare him. He adds another finger, stretching him out slowly and scissoring his fingers. He curls his fingers just right and Connor cries out as he bows his head over the counter. 

“More… More!” He gasps.

“You are insatiable,” Oliver murmurs softly, his eyes glued to where his fingers are buried inside his lover’s body. But he thinks Connor’s ready for more. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them against a large spilled blob of oil on the countertop. His other hand undoes his belt buckle and pants, pulling them down enough to expose his achingly hard cock. And he coats it with the slippery substance. He rests one hand on Connor’s hip while the other grabs a fistful of the ridiculous apron Connor’s wearing. He slowly pushes inside. And together they gasp and moan against each other. Connor’s back arches beautifully as he throws his head back against Oliver’s shoulder. 

They both take a moment to adjust. Oliver seals his lips over the junction where Connor’s neck meets his shoulder. He sucks at the skin, reveling in sounds coming from Connor’s lips. He pulls back to admire the angry red blotch that he’s left on his skin, and he places a gentle kiss against it. He’s about to start moving when Connor interrupts him.

“Wait, I–I need to strain the pasta…” He gasps.

Oliver snorts against his skin. “Forget the damn pasta.”

His first thrust leaves them both gasping loudly. Oliver squeezes his eyes shut as he moans into Connor’s hair. Their bodies tremble together, and Connor’s hands grip the edge of the counter in a mixture of pain and pleasure. 

He continues to move, looking for the spot that makes Connor gasp and cry–there it is–sounding almost distressed in his wonderful agony.

Their bodies continue to move together in a messy, fluid rhythm. Overwhelmed gasps and broken cries fill the room. And when the bliss gets too much, Connor grabs Oliver’s hand from his hip and moves it to wrap tighter around his abdomen. He laces their fingers together and squeezes tightly as Oliver keeps hitting that spot that has him crying out wretchedly.

_“Oh–oh god–oh fuck fuck–ahh–Ollie!”_

Oliver presses kisses to the side of Connor’s neck, where he knows he’s most sensitive. His free hand moves to the other man’s cock. It’s still slick with residual oil, and he gives it a few hard strokes. It doesn’t take much longer until Connor’s climax splashes over his fingers, and makes a mess on their floor. His gasps and moans diminish into beautiful, soft whimpers. 

And as Connor clenches around him, pleasure crashes into every fiber of his being. And Oliver starts cumming as well. His orgasm so intense it makes his legs weak and his head woozy. Finally, they catch their breaths, heads leaning gently together, their clothes sticking to them uncomfortably and sticky with sweat.

“Ollie?” Connor finally asks.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really happy too.”

Oliver opens his eyes and lifts his head to properly look at the other man, who’s looking deliciously disheveled. “Yeah?” He asks softly.

Connor nods. “Moving out here… transferring to Stanford… best idea I ever had.”

Oliver grins and he leans close to kiss the other man softly. 

“I’m glad you came with me,” Connor whispers against his lips. “I wouldn’t have gone without you.”

Oliver smiles as he leans his forehead against the other man’s. “I would go anywhere with you, Connor.”

Connor laughs softly and takes a deep breath, shaking off the remnants of his post orgasm high.

“You ruined my pasta,” he states frankly.

They both glance at the simmering pot of long ruined noodles. 

“I’m not eating limp, salty noodles,” Connor says. “And since it’s your fault they’re ruined, you can make dinner and clean up in here, while I go take a shower.”

Oliver snorts but doesn’t pull back yet. He wraps his arms around the other man’s waist and continues to rest his chin on Connor’s shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to join you in there?” His work clothes are ruined and he desperately needs a shower as well.

Connor rolls his eyes. “You’re just trying to get out of clean up duty.”

“Who’s going to clean you up?” Oliver asks slyly. His hands playfully fiddle with the string of the apron wrapped around Connor’s back.

Connor finally grins and laughs softly. 

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go shower then. We’ll just order delivery.”

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com)


End file.
